Into The Bush

Location:
Tanzania

Walking, bush, wilderness

By Steve Foreman

So geographers, in Afric maps,

With savage-pictures fill their gaps;

And o’er uninhabitable downs

Place elephants for want of towns.

Jonathan Swift

So wrote the poet in 1733. These words could have been written about the Selous Game reserve in Tanzania, for, even to this day, they epitomise the great expanses of this savage wilderness; a wilderness that has remained unchanged and unspoiled since the Dawn of Time. It is Paradise Lost – a magical and timeless place, evocative of all that we imagine wild Africa to be. The vastness of the Selous is incomprehensible, the wildlife innumerable and the atmosphere unimaginable.

Let me tell you about this stream. It runs along a valley in the Beho-Beho hills, in the northwest buffer zone of the Reserve, and it provided me with one of the most exhilarating walks I have ever been on.

From my base at Sable Mountain Lodge, situated on the slopes of one of these hills, the walk starts on a narrow, undulating dirt track. I stroll along for a short distance, before turning aside and plunging into the surrounding forest. After pushing down through steep, fairly dense bush, dusty and itchy, I almost fall into the gully, where the sky above is a blue strip between the looming trees.

At once, I sense the magic of the place. Apart from the insistent babbling where the stream negotiates a fall of granite, the place is unbelievably quiet – at first; only as my harsh breathing subsides to normal do I become aware of the incessant chirr of insects and the twittering of flycatchers in the high branches above. Towering sterculia, giant strangler figs, and tangled liana dwarf me. Everywhere I am surrounded by deep, lush jungle, and a glance over my shoulder, to check from which opening I most recently emerged, reveals a bewildering aspect of an unknown world. The forest has closed it doors behind me. High above, on the steep forested slopes, an urgent pushing and parting of bushes signifies the presence of elephant or buffalo.

As I splash along the riverbed, I am surrounded by a pervading atmosphere of total isolation and peace - albeit full of noises. A troop of Blue Monkey barks at me from an overhanging canopy, yellow bishops rattle the elephant grass as they flit and flutter from stem to stem and trumpeter hornbills cry out from their high flight-path above. Through the dappled leaves, the sun is warm on my back; freshwater crabs scuttle from under my boots, water boatmen ski on the surface of clear rockpools, and unidentified birds chirp and squeak in the thick vegetation on each bank. There is no human noise or disturbance other than my own, and I unconsciously and automatically try to limit this – always an intruder, but striving to merge with my ancient heritage. However, this isolation and peace – this tranquillity of pure nature – has its darker side. My skin tingles with the reality of hidden menace. Even as I stroll along, sometimes knee-deep in the clear, cold water, I am not totally relaxed, not completely at ease and absorbed in the fairy-tale world of childhood desires, for at any turn in the stream, from behind any thick, overhanging strangler fig - amber eyes could be watching me; feline pupils, shrunk to pinpoints in the light of day. Focused, watching, assessing – threat or food – or just a passing nuisance to be ignored? I do not see these eyes; I do not want to, for to look into them is to see my destiny mere seconds before it arrives.

The bushes rustle somewhere up ahead. Black and white Colobus monkeys charge across the canopy, showering me in the debris of vegetation, screaming as they leap from branch to branch. The unknown awaits me - thrilling, exciting, and dangerous.

Nowhere can I feel as alive as here – to feel life around me, as tactile as the cold water swirling around my knees. I guess that I can only feel this alive by being so close to death.

This stream, this wild, untamed wilderness, is the Holy Grail of one’s existence. It is where superficiality stops and reality begins. With only a machete to slash through the elephant grass, I push on into the unknown. Livingstone looms before me, a knowing smile on his ecclesiastical face; Burton mocks me with his gypsy laugh, I stand diminutive in Stanley’s’ footsteps - larger than those of the elephant’s imprinted in the sand before me. These men walked a thousand paces for every one of mine, but surely, the sensations they experienced are the same.

The sun starts to dip behind the dark horizon of trees, and I turn back, hoping to reach camp before dusk falls. Dusk: Greyness washes everything; grass, trees, granite – even the tinkling water. Shade becomes shadow. Night pursues dusk quickly and relentlessly. Camp is sanctuary. The stars are warm, friendly, glorious, and myriad, belying the reality of what night holds in store for those that linger in the black depths of the forest. How cold and unfriendly those stars would appear if they were the last things I saw before being engulfed by the shadows – shadows with amber eyes.

The above description is based on my first, and solo, exploratory trip to seek a new and exciting route on which to take my clients, if they were adventurous enough. Of course, on subsequent trips, an armed Game Scout accompanied us - but I will never forget that first, thrilling foray, totally alone and isolated, with only a machete for protection.

Further Information

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